


you don't need a ride home 'cause i got you tonight

by VenusMonstrosa



Series: i can only do right by you [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Farmer Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 06:58:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13898742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VenusMonstrosa/pseuds/VenusMonstrosa
Summary: “I think you know I’m not backing down.”Steve hums in agreement.Bucky chews his bottom lip. “But I think you won’t back down, either.”“Well, then,” Steve tilts his head, the same way his mother did earlier. “What happens now?”





	you don't need a ride home 'cause i got you tonight

**Author's Note:**

> A massive thank you to everyone who read, left kudos, and commented on 'don't go to bed unless you go with me'. This is for those who asked for more. 
> 
> Title, again, taken from "Me Like Yuh" by Jay Park. I know NOTHING about farms or farming, don’t come for me pls.
> 
> If you'd like to get into my headspace, I listened to [Fjordne - Last Sun](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VIapmVWwZYA) on repeat the entire time I wrote this.
> 
> UPDATE: Edited on 15/01/19 and beta'd by 743ish!

Steve calls him at three in the morning.

_ “Buck.” _ His voice is raspy, the tinny quality of his old phone making him sound further away than he is.

Bucky sits up in bed, worry dousing him like ice water. “Steve?” 

_“I’m_ _sorry—can_ _you—I_ _know_ _it’s_ _late—but_ _she’s—”_ he struggles. Each word is like a knife in Bucky’s gut. Twisting. Digging deeper.

He grips his blankets in cold, clammy hands before throwing them aside. “Okay.”

As he races upstate, the sound of Steve’s shaky, broken sighs rings in Bucky’s ears.

-

The first time he hears of the Rogers Farm is during a Monday morning meeting he is only half-listening to. It’s been a slow sort of morning, one that has him drinking a second coffee before noon, just to stave off the sluggishness. In a cruel sort of irony, he watches a bird fly by the window, free to go wherever it pleases. 

He’s forced back into the conversation as eight sets of eyes turn to look at him, waiting for his response. “This property, Mr. Barnes,” Natasha prompts him, pointing a painted red fingertip at the map on the table in front of him. It’s a sizeable patch of green, located considerably upstate. The notes she took are jotted neatly in the margins of the page.

‘ _ Subsistence farm. Near water. Near major highway. Next town over has resources to accommodate 200~ employees/new residents. 2-2.5 hr drive from Manhattan.’ _

From the front of the conference room, Bruce clears his throat. “It’s our top choice for both the new factory and warehouses. It’s got the space and it’s perfectly located, and it’s not a commercial farm so we don’t have to get the legal team involved. There’s other viable land, but it’s too far, too expensive to acquire, or in Jersey.” Everyone chuckles at that.

“If it’s the best option; we should go for it,” Natasha says. “If you can get me the landowner’s name and address, I can head there Wednesday afternoon and try to sweet-talk something. Old men kinda love me,” she adds under her breath.

“No need, Ms. Romanoff. And thank you, Dr. Banner,” Bucky says, gathering his embarrassingly-blank papers. “Have someone send it to me, I’ll drive up and negotiate after lunch.” He rises from his chair, collecting his mug. “Is that all?”

“Uh, yes, that was the last order of business,” Bruce nods, and everyone else starts packing their things up as well. “Thank you, sir.”

Bucky waves it off. “I’m out of practice, and I could use the fresh air.”

He asks his administrative assistant to screen his incoming calls, takes his lunch in his office, and heads out by one. The remnants of winter still linger in the air, so he wraps up in an expensive navy pea coat and grey cashmere scarf. He wants to come across as dashing and professional; h e's found that it's a look most people have a hard time saying no to.

He’s never been this far upstate, but he figures he’s on the right track when he starts seeing more cows than people. After a couple hours of driving through progressively greener and greener landscape and poking at his GPS, Bucky spots the large yellow house he recognizes from the morning meeting. He takes the fork in the road leading up to it, remembering that the other would lead to the barn.

He parks beside a blue pickup truck with mud caked on the tires. The odour of animals and damp earth and manure seeps into his car before he even opens the door. He grimaces, hoping the smell won’t hang around once they bulldoze over everything.

Gravel crunches beneath his feet as he walks up to the front door. It’s an older house, to be sure, but not in bad condition. The paint on the outside of the house is faded, but the curtains in the window look clean. There are two rocking chairs sitting invitingly on the wraparound porch, which looks to have been recently swept. The wood is sturdy, barely creaking as he makes his way up the front steps.

Only after he rings the doorbell does he realize he should’ve brought something. Flowers, maybe. A muffin basket. What would endear him to an old farmer?

It’s a few long moments before he hears shuffling footsteps and coughing, and the door swings open. From behind the screen, an older woman with greying blonde hair and kind eyes looks up at him. “Yes? Can I help you?” 

“Good afternoon, ma’am. Sorry to bother you.” Bucky ducks his head down a little, unexpectedly charmed by the soft Irish accent flavouring her words. “Is your husband home?”

She tilts her head, still smiling, though a touch more sadly. “I’m afraid not. He died about thirty years ago.”

Bucky raises his brows. “Ah,” he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling his phone out. “I apologize. I thought this contact information was up to date.” He peers at the email Bruce forwarded to him. “Steve Rogers…” he mumbles, scrolling through it.

“Oh,  _ Steve _ .” Her smile grows before she turns her head to cough into her sleeve. “Joe was my husband, Steve is my son. He should be getting in soon, he’s just down at the barn. Come in.” She pushes the screen door open and steps aside.

“Thank you, Mrs. Rogers.”

“Sarah,” she says.

“James Barnes,” he replies, gently shaking her hand before wiping his feet off on the welcome mat.

The inside is exactly what he expected from the outside. Everything looks worn and used in a way that seems natural and well-loved, not like the faux-rustic décor of chic modern farmhouses used as Airbnbs and wedding venues. The warmth of the house settles right into him, and there’s the unmistakable scent of freshly baked bread. He unwraps the scarf from around his neck and peels off his coat, allowing Sarah to take them and hang them up on the row of hooks in the hall before she ushers him to the living room. None of the furniture matches, the coffee table is scratched up, and there are picture frames of various shapes and sizes decorating the mantle and perched on almost every surface. A mix of beautifully drawn portraits and photographs, old and new, of people, children, families. The windows are large and line the walls, allowing sunlight to completely fill the room.  _ This place could be nice, actually, _ Bucky thinks.  _ Just needs a ton of redecorating. Paint. Carpeting. _

He only just settles onto the large red couch when he hears the front door swing open.

“That’ll be him,” Sarah says, shuffling out of the room. “Steve, darling?”

“Yeah,” a deep voice responds. Bucky hears the sound of heavy boots being kicked off. “Whose car is that?”

“You have a visitor. James Barnes.”

“Who?”

Bucky stands up and adjusts his tie. He runs a hand through his hair and tries to smooth it back into something presentable. He doesn’t have a pitch to go over, because he doesn’t believe in them, because every situation should be analyzed and felt out in the moment. Pitches never sound genuine anyway, and unless you let it flow organically, you won’t be able to tailor it to the individual. And it’s just as well, because everything in his head immediately disappears at the sight of the man who walks into the living room.

Steve may only be an inch or two taller than Bucky, but the sheer bulk of his muscles make him seem much larger. A white t-shirt stretches, indecently tight, across his chest and arms. He takes his baseball cap off and his blond hair is mussed underneath. When he reaches out to shake Bucky’s hand with a commanding grip, Bucky very nearly doesn’t let go.

“Hi,” he says, embarrassingly breathy. He clears his throat and tries again. “I’m James Barnes.”

“Steve Rogers,” he responds with a quirk of the lips. Not entirely a smile. “What’s this about?”

Bucky doesn’t even remember. Nothing exists but Steve’s impossibly long eyelashes.

Presumably from the kitchen, Sarah calls out to them. “Some coffee, James? Tea?”

“Coffee would be great, thank you,” he hears himself say, not taking his eyes off Steve.

“How do you take it?” she asks.

Steve raises an eyebrow.

Bucky licks his lips, his mouth suddenly bone-dry. “Splash of milk, no sugar. Please.”

Settling himself down in the recliner across from Bucky, Steve regards him carefully. “You’re from the city.” He states. It’s not a question.

“That obvious?” Bucky sits back down.

Steve shrugs. “You sound Brooklyn.”

“Well, I’m  _ from _ Shelbyville, I just grew up in Brooklyn.”

“Me too.”

“Really?”

“Born and raised.” Steve sits back, stretching his legs out. They’re so long, they disappear under the coffee table between them. “Kind of. We only lived there until I was twelve.”

“And I thank God every day that were able to leave when we did,” Sarah announces brightly, appearing in the doorway with a cup of coffee in one hand and a plate of cookies and a cloth napkin in the other. “Steve was such a poorly child. Constantly sick, constantly whining about being sick—”

“Aw, ma—” Steve complains.

“He was always too short and too thin for his age. Had respiratory problems, spinal problems, heart problems, everything.”

“I had ADHD?” Bucky offers, but Steve just shakes his head.

“As soon as we got him out of all that pollution and into the fresh air, he grew like a weed. Now look at him! Sturdy as a house. Eats like a horse.” Sarah sets the plate, napkin, and cup down in front of Bucky and pats Steve on the shoulder.

Steve puts a hand over his face.

She turns away to cough into her sleeve again. “Right. I’m off to lie down. It was a pleasure meeting you, James.”

“Thank you, Sarah,” Bucky says politely, watching her slowly and carefully climb the stairs, one precarious step at a time. By the time he looks back at Steve, Steve is already staring at him.

While he steels himself, Bucky takes a sip of coffee. His third cup that day. “So,” he says.

Steve steals a cookie off his plate. “So.”

“I’m here on business.”

“Alright.” He bites into the cookie and crumbs litter his bottom lip.

Bucky sits up straighter and tries not to stare at his mouth. “Have you heard of SHIELD Corp?”

Steve nods. He flicks his tongue out and catches the crumbs.

“I’m the chief procurement officer. It’s a glorified title for what I do, but when they want something, I’m the one in charge of getting it.”

He nods again. Another bite. More licking. “And what is it that they want?”

Bucky crosses his legs. “We’re prepared to make you an offer on the farm.”

Steve frowns. “What does SHIELD Corp want with a farm?”

“Not the farm, it’s the land itself. We need a space large enough for a new factory and some warehouses. This is the one they’re after.”

Shoving the last large chunk of the cookie in his mouth, Steve dusts off the crumbs that have landed on his lap. “Not interested,” he says, mouth full.

“I haven’t even told you how much we’re offering. Just hear me out,” Bucky says patiently. He’s used to this, being met with resistance when trying to buy someone out. The familiarity of the routine immediately calms him, reminds him that Steve is just a landowner, and that he’s just trying to get a signature. “But between you and me, I’d ask for more.” He says it like a secret, but it’s the truth. “We’re a huge company. We can afford it.”

Steve smiles. “I’m sorry you drove all the way up here, James.”

This is the point when Bucky usually starts pulling out the numbers. For a proposal like this, he’ll compare the property to ones nearby, listing off their market price in contrast with the offer SHIELD Corp is making. He’ll talk about the team of professional movers contracted by SHIELD who will help them relocate at no cost, he’ll show pictures of their other facilities and explain how much good it did the community by opening up more jobs, he’ll consider their circumstances and hit them at their weak points. _Aren’t_ _you_ _tired_ _of_ _the_ _same_ _old_ _scenery? Wouldn’t_ _it_ _be_ _nice_ _for_ _your children to live in a better school district? You deserve a break, and Cancun is beautiful this time of year._ It’s easy to read older people. They’re talkative, giving him information he can use and manipulate. His strategy is not meant to intimidate nor take advantage, it’s to remind them of what they’re missing out on.

But Bucky doesn’t know what to make of Steve. He doesn’t know what to do with this quiet, stoic man who looks at him curiously, almost smugly. The silence stretches on.

He glances at Steve’s left hand. No ring. No tan line left from wearing one. Still, he has to ask. “Got any kids, Steve?”

“Not that I know of,” he answers smoothly.

Bucky can work with that. “Is it just you and your mom here? There’s a lot of people in these picture frames, but I only saw a couple pairs of shoes at the door.”

“I’m an only child, that’s my extended family from back home.” He nods to the side table, at a photo of a large group of people standing in front of a church. “We’re Irish,” he says, by way of an explanation.

“I get it. Got three baby sisters and probably fifty aunts, uncles, and cousins, and that's only counting those of us on the east coast.”

“Must be nice,” Steve says, and it sounds genuine. Bucky takes note of that.

“It is ‘till you forget someone’s birthday,” he grins, and Steve returns it. Bucky settles back against the couch, drums his fingers on the armrest. “I gotta say, Steve. This is a really nice house. It’s pretty big. What is it, four bedrooms, two and a half bathrooms? My place in Manhattan is probably half the size.”

Steve shrugs. “Because it’s in Manhattan. You get a shoebox for a million dollars.”

“Alright, fair enough,” he chuckles. “Do you need all this space though? If it’s just the two of you?”

Steve shrugs again. “Wasn’t always just the two of us. Might not always be.”

Bucky raises his eyebrows. “Planning on extending the family soon?”

Steve swipes another cookie off the plate. “Now that’s a personal question,” he admonishes, with no real heat to it.

“Just trying to figure you out,” Bucky says honestly.

“Yeah?” Steve asks through a mouthful of chocolate chips, which should not be as attractive as it is. “What do you think so far?”

“I think,” Bucky sighs, leaning his elbow on the arm rest and propping his chin up with his fist. “You’re stubborn.”

“Go on.”

“I think you think you’re more stubborn than I am.”

“Do I?” he says, amused.

“I think you know I’m not backing down.”

Steve hums in agreement.

Bucky chews his bottom lip. “But I think you won’t back down, either.”

“Well, then,” Steve tilts his head, the same way his mother did earlier. “What happens now?”

Bucky is deliberate in the way he looks into Steve’s eyes, lowering his gaze to his lips, and lower still. He takes in Steve’s broad chest, solid arms, tight core. His eyes land on Steve’s lap and he takes a slow, deep breath in. By the time he looks at his face again, Steve’s gone a little pink. Perhaps that move may have been too bold, but he can’t deny the results.

“If there’s nothing I can do to make you reconsider,” Bucky begins slowly, unbuttoning his shirt sleeves and rolling them up. “Nothing at all that I can offer you, professionally…”

Steve is silent, watching him in turn.

“Then, for now, having absolutely nothing to do with SHIELD’s offer,” Bucky clarifies, getting to his feet. “I’m sorry if I misread this, Steve, but I’ve been imagining your cock in my mouth since you walked in here.”

He catches Steve off guard. For a moment, it feels like they’ve both stopped breathing, but neither of them break eye contact.

Then Steve stands up as well, pushing the coffee table out of their way with his foot. There’s a fire in his eyes as he looks over Bucky completely, shamelessly sizing him up. “Come get it, then.”

Bucky only has to take one step forward before he sinks to his knees on the carpet. Quick, nimble fingers undo Steve’s belt buckle, pop open a button, and unzip the fly. Steve’s hands hang at his sides, balling up into fists. When Bucky pulls Steve’s cock out of his boxers, it’s half hard, still soft enough that he can nip at the foreskin with his lips folded over his teeth.

He sneaks a look up. Steve is watching him intently, his mouth falling open. He keeps watching as Bucky slowly, gently strokes him from base to tip, and his erection begins to fill out, heavy and thick in Bucky’s hands. When he presses light kisses along the shaft, Steve exhales softly. When Bucky ducks further down and sucks his balls into his mouth, one at a time, Steve purses his lips to stifle a groan.

It’s only once he starts leaking steadily into Bucky’s fingers that he relents and tries to swallow him down.

Steve bites into one of his fists, eyes fluttering shut.  _ “Fuck.” _

It’s too much at once and Bucky’s throat starts to seize up, but he holds it for as long as he can before he pulls back and coughs. “Okay, big guy,” he whispers. “We’ll try that again.”

He goes slower this time, working his way down, wetting his lips and stretching his jaw open. He takes Steve’s length most of the way in before he knows he has to withdraw, and uses his hand to firmly stroke what he can’t fit into his mouth. He can tell Steve is trying not to thrust into it, but encourages the movement anyway, grabbing Steve’s free hand and guiding it into his hair.

Eventually, Bucky lets go completely, letting his eyes slide shut. Everyone who’s ever teased him for looking like he has a mouth made to suck dick was  _ absolutely _ not wrong. He loves the weight of it on his tongue, and the feeling of being able to make someone fall apart. Just the littlest thing can set someone off; a well-timed lick, a finger nudging up against the asshole, an open-handed slap on the ass. He wants to learn what it is for Steve, to watch him come undone. 

Steve thrusts shallowly into the tight suction of his lips, one hand gripping into Bucky’s hair, one hand half-shoved into his own mouth to stop himself from crying out. Bucky almost wishes they had done this outside, maybe even in the barn, if only so Steve wouldn’t have to keep those delicious noises from him.

When he looks up, Steve looks flushed, desperate.

Bucky reaches down and rubs at his own cock through his pants. Steve catches the movement and moans into his hand a little more loudly. “Gonna come,” he whispers hoarsely. “Where—”

Bucky keeps jerking him steadily but pulls his mouth off. “Ever finish on someone’s face?”

Steve shakes his head, breathing shallowly. “You’d let me?”

“ _ Let _ you?” Bucky sucks him all the way down again and pulls back off with a loud pop. “I’d  _ beg _ for it, handsome.”

“Yeah?” Steve’s eyes flash, pushing Bucky’s hand away so he can take over stroking himself. “Next time.”

Bucky sits back, eyes shut, mouth open. He wants so badly to watch, but he can’t trust Steve’s aim yet. There’s a shuddering breath above him, and suddenly something hot and wet paints his face, landing on his cheeks, his forehead, and tongue.

He feels Steve drop to the floor in front of him, their knees knocking together. He knows there’s probably come in his eyelashes, but he opens his eyes anyway. “Jesus,” Steve says quietly, panting.

Bucky shuts his mouth and swallows.

Steve shakes his head and huffs a laugh, reaching over to the coffee table and grabbing the cloth napkin. He cradles the back of Bucky’s head as he wipes over his face, fingers rubbing warm circles into the nape of his neck.

“Mmm,” Bucky hums and grins while Steve cleans him off. “So gentle.”

“I’m known to be, from time to time,” Steve murmurs, smoothing Bucky’s hair back. As if trying to prove it, he leans in and brings their faces together, pressing his mouth against Bucky’s. It’s a soft kiss, gone as quickly as it happened. Steve trails his lips down Bucky’s jawline, down the side of his neck. Steve reaches into Bucky’s lap, palming at his dick.

“Oh,” Bucky sighs. “You wanna?”

“Please,” Steve mumbles against his skin. “Can I?”

Bucky undoes his pants enough to let Steve grab his cock. He puts his hands around Steve’s neck, pulling at his hair, tugging at his shirt. Steve’s hand is impossibly hot, his calloused grip on the right side of too-tight. “That’s good, Stevie,” he says encouragingly. “God, you’re so fucking  _ hot _ .” He punctuates his words with a squeeze to Steve’s shoulders.

Steve sucks a mark into Bucky’s neck in return, following it with a bite.

“Do you know how good you look?” Bucky breathes into Steve’s ear. “With your fucking muscles and cheekbones. Look at that fucking jaw. I could sit on that fucking jaw, it’s so strong,” he babbles, rolling his hips. “Been hard since I laid eyes on you. Been aching for it this whole time. Wanted you to bend me over the couch and make me scream your name.”

Steve’s strokes quicken and Bucky drops his face into Steve’s chest to muffle a moan. 

“ _ Shh.” _ Steve settles his hand on Bucky’s lower back and pulls him closer, practically into his own lap. “Focus, James.”

“Bucky, call me Bucky,” he whines, nuzzling his face into Steve’s shoulder. “S’what my friends call me.”

Steve chuckles, and it tickles his neck. “We friends, Bucky?”

“At this point, we’re  _ best _ friends.”

Steve laughs at that, and Bucky can’t help but sit up and kiss him, laugh with him, bite at his bottom lip. Their tongues slide together and he tastes like warm chocolate.

When Bucky’s thighs start trembling, Steve strokes him faster still. “Gonna come for me?”

He moans into Steve’s mouth as an answer.

The hand Steve had on Bucky’s lower back slides down, giving his ass a hard squeeze. It’s what sets him off, makes him tense up, and Steve milks him through it as Bucky spills all over his hand.

Bucky collapses against Steve’s shoulder, waiting to catch his breath. “Gimme a sec,” he whispers, so Steve rubs his back soothingly until he gets the energy to sit up.

“Good?” he smiles.

“I came on your shirt, I think.” Bucky looks down between them.

Steve snorts. “It’s just a shirt. I’m doing laundry later, anyway.” Steve rises to his feet and helps Bucky up, and they both adjust themselves back into their pants.

When Steve pulls his soiled shirt off, Bucky groans. “You kidding me?”

“What?”

“Farming?” Bucky gestures at his chest. “When you could be a model? Pro football player? Personal trainer? Porn star?” He sighs wistfully. “Christ, Steve. You could fucking destroy me and I’d say  _ thank you _ .” When he blushes, Bucky rolls his eyes. “It’s a little late to be getting shy about this.”

“Geeze, Buck, I just…” Steve looks away for a moment. His hesitation makes Bucky’s stomach drop. “I don’t do things like this. Not that it was bad, it’s just that…”

That gives Bucky pause. “By ‘things like this’, do you mean—with a guy?”

“I meant one-night-stands. Casual hook ups. Especially with strangers,” Steve lowers his voice and shrugs. “But also with a guy, I guess. Wasn’t a lot of opportunity, and there’s only a couple thousand people in this town. Mostly old married couples, not many younger people because they usually move into a bigger town as soon as they’re old enough to find work. My high school was in the next town over and only had like, two hundred students.”

_ Another reason to sell _ , Bucky thinks, but keeps it to himself. “Are you… Do you like—”

“Yeah,” Steve answers, a little too quickly. “I do. There was one girl, once, but otherwise…”

“Hey. Stop looking so stressed out,” Bucky says, touching his cheek. When Steve doesn’t pull away, Bucky moves closer to him. “I met your mother, and you know my childhood nickname. Are we still strangers?”

Steve’s hands land on his hips. “I guess not.”

“And I did come here from work, for perfectly legitimate business-related reasons.”

Steve leans his face into Bucky’s hand, looking at him with a hopeful little half-smile. “Which makes this not casual?”

“Right.” Bucky tilts his head up, catching Steve’s lips with his own. “I’ll have to come back in a few weeks, and I’ll keep coming back until one of us changes our minds.” He doesn’t know if he’s talking about work or sex anymore, but Steve doesn’t ask. “Is that okay?”

Steve nods.

“Then maybe it won’t be a one-time deal,” Bucky whispers. “You  _ did _ say you were going to make me beg next time.”

Steve squeezes Bucky’s hips. “Do you want a ‘next time’?”

Bucky closes the space between them, pressing the full length of their bodies together. “If I’m driving five hours here and back, there better be.”

On his way out, he gives Steve his business card with his personal number scribbled on the back, despite Steve’s explanation that he barely uses his cell because the reception is awful around the farm. Steve wraps up the leftover cookies and insists Bucky take them home.

He finishes them off after dinner, and they taste like Steve’s mouth. 

-

The next time Bucky drives up to the farm, he brings a file folder. He intends to go through it with Steve, to explain more about what they plan to do, the opportunities they’re opening up for Steve and his mother, and the newly raised offer SHIELD has put on the table. But Sarah’s at the market that afternoon, so Steve eats him out in bed and swallows his come. The time after that, Sarah is home, so they relocate to the barn and grind against each other in the corner, because it takes Bucky another visit before he feels comfortable disrobing in front of the animals. “They don’t care,” Steve laughs at him.

“ _ I _ care,” Bucky grumbles.

On the fifth visit, Bucky was delayed by heavy construction on the way up, so he gets there a lot later than he meant to. Sarah ropes him into staying for dinner, and they all hold hands when they say grace. Steve tells him he can’t sell the house because his great-great-grandfather built it, then kisses Bucky roughly against the side of his pick-up truck, pulls at the collar of his shirt, pins him in place and ruts up against him.

The time after that, in the sticky summer heat, Bucky brings his laptop and tries to show him a full on PowerPoint presentation, but Steve sneaks him into the shower and fingers him until his legs feel boneless.

A few visits later, they sit on the porch and drink spiked hot chocolate. Steve tells him his grandparents lived on the farm before they did, and his mother inherited it after they passed away, to be passed onto Steve as soon as he turned twenty-one. “We didn’t have a lot in Brooklyn. Couldn’t afford all my medical expenses, either. My mom swears moving out here saved my life.” Bucky slides his foot up against Steve’s, a point of contact that anchors them both. 

Sarah starts calling Bucky  _ “Steve’s handsome friend from the city”  _ and teases him about growing his hair out so long. On her birthday, Bucky brings her a wild fig and cassis scented candle and an Egyptian cotton bathrobe, which Steve confirms she wears constantly on the days when she can’t get out of bed.

Bucky still visits in the dead of winter, braving the long, grueling drive through snowed-in roads, over black ice. Steve wraps him up and they sit in front of the fireplace, his breath tickling the back of Bucky’s neck. Steve tells him his parents should have had more kids. “My dad died when I was four. I don’t really remember him.” Bucky takes Steve’s hand in his and holds it to his chest. “We thought my uncle’s family would be getting the farm, but they went back to Ireland. My parents had me when they were older, they didn’t expect… Or else they would’ve gotten busy a lot earlier, so it wouldn’t be just us.” He smiles ruefully. “Would’ve had a bunch of little twerps running around to help out, keep the house full. Because I’m not—I’m probably never going to have—” Bucky kisses him hard and takes the words out of his mouth, where they won’t cut Steve’s tongue.

Sometimes they have the better part of a whole day together, and they spend it lazily, lying on blankets up in the barn loft. Sometimes Bucky is tired and swamped with work, and Steve knows to give it to him as fast and hard as he can take it. Sometimes Bucky spends an hour working the knots out of Steve’s back, kissing his rough, scarred hands, and fucking him slowly until he comes apart. Bucky still asks if Steve is ready to accept SHIELD’s offer and leave the farm. Steve still asks if Bucky is ready to give up and stay.

“Don’t you ever want anything more than this?” Bucky says one afternoon, in the glow of the fading sunlight from the kitchen window. Steve knows he can’t stay still for very long, but asks him to sit for his drawings anyway.

Steve sets his pencil down and looks at him carefully, a smile playing on his lips. “What more could I want?”

-

Spring comes and goes.

Bucky only calls when he’s on his way, but doesn’t drive up on weekends or his days off. Steve doesn’t go down to the city, either. Bucky always wears his work clothes, no matter how roughly Steve tears them off.  _ I’m here on business, _ Bucky keeps reminding him,  _ and I’ll be back in a month _ . This way, they don’t have to talk about what they’re doing. They don’t have to put a name on it. Like it doesn’t exist until they’re together, and it stops existing after they part. No boundaries to cross, because none have been set.

Outside of this, nothing in their lives is supposed to change.

But then summer bows to the bitter chill of autumn.

-

When Bucky gets to the hospital, the sun is already starting to creep above the horizon. Steve sits in the waiting room with red-rimmed eyes and Bucky kneels in front of him and kisses him on the forehead, pressing his hands to his cheeks. “Any word?”

Steve shakes his head. 

“When’s the last time you ate something? I could go get you some water?”

Steve shakes his head again, reaching for Bucky’s hands and gripping them tightly. “Don’t leave me,” he says quietly.

“I won’t.” Bucky nods. “I promise.”


End file.
